Reading Lessons
by Quillweave
Summary: Antoinetta Marie is already a skilled killer from her time surviving on the streets, but she still has a lot to learn - and Vicente has to remind himself why patience is an assassin's greatest virtue. Oneshot.


**Author's Note:** This oneshot is dedicated to Countess Z. Thank you so much for being a wonderful writer and for nerding out with me on Oblivion! Not to mention, for inspiring this little piece.

* * *

"I really don't see much point in this."

Antoinetta Marie pouted at the parchment before her, quill drippling blots of ink to sink in and become irreversible imperfections on the clean sheet. She could _feel_ the vampire hovering over her shoulder and huffed, a lock of golden hair pushed from her brow. "I mean, I should be training. Doing something _useful_ , or be out on a contract. Spilling blood!"

"Patience, murderer. You'll have your chance again, in time." Vicente gazed over her work with a critical eye, casting a brow. "For now, there are other skills you must master."

Her red lips pursed into a pout. "I've never needed to be able to read or write _before_. You don't need to be able to write to sneak, or to slit a throat, or poison stew. "

"Yet to read a contract yourself, or to leave a note for a contact, you must." His hands folded behind his back the old vampire paced behind her. Patience was key – not only for her, but for himself. She tested it, but with training she would be well worth the effort. So Lucien had said, in any case.

Then again, he wasn't the one to actually _deal_ with the girl, was he? She couldn't have been more than nineteen, still paranoid and hostile from her lifetime of scavenging for survival. Still a child, nothing more than untapped, chaotic potential at this stage.

She scoffed, turning back to her parchment with furrowed brow. It was stupid, all of this. She had done fine without these skills so far, hadn't she? He was only making her do this to bully her, and the worst part was it was working. _Children_ could read and write. Lucky children, of course, those so fortunate as to be given schooling. Not street urchins, like her. Yet facing the blank parchment, trying to copy the letters and sentences Vicente had given her left her with a pit of dread in her stomach, roiling. She felt foolish, and surely that was exactly what he wanted.

A sudden snarl left her as he hovered over her shoulder again. "And would you stop _looming_ like a bloody giant bat!?"

He stopped short. His voice never raised, yet the air grew chill. "You will not speak to me that way, murderer."

A swallow and she shrank, riled, inwardly hissing, but cowed. The skritch of a quill tip on paper resumed for several silent, fuming minutes, until a mug of tea was left beside her on the desk.

She glanced up to see Vicente sitting behind her, holding his own mug, gaze intent. It both unnerved her and angered her, how calm he always was. He was unflappable, untouchable.

Unreadable.

"Drink. We shall break here, for now." He gestured towards the tea, which she reluctantly picked up and sipped. It was hot, uncomfortably hot, but the singe at the back of her throat was at least a distraction of some kind. Still petulant, she muttered under her breath.

 _"Finally."_

A brow raised, but he didn't speak. He didn't need to. She huffed and went to take another sip, the mug halfway to her mouth when he interrupted.

"Let us play through a little scenario." The mug set aside he intertwined his fingers, leaning forward. His hair fell over his shoulder, gaunt face as placid as ever. "You are posing as a young noblewoman at a dinner party. The discussion has turned to literature. You are expected to contribute, yet being illiterate, you cannot. You do not fit in, and draw dangerous attention to yourself because of this."

She tossed her hair, narrow chin pointed upwards. "I'd just distract them with my charm and my looks."

He barely kept himself from chuckling aloud, only a twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "You are also given potions. One for poisoning the food, another for healing yourself after ingesting the poison from the meal. If all went well, you would dine with the others, thus failing to arouse suspicion from not eating, and simply imbibe the potion shortly after. But because you cannot read, you make the mistake of switching the two."

Her brow furrowed, lips pursed once more. "I – I'd just use different colour labels! Then I could tell." She crossed her arms over her chest, triumphant even as Vicente raised his brows.

"You cannot read the signs of the roads to know where you are headed. You cannot read the warnings or bounties that may alert you to dangerous wildlife or nearby mercenaries. You cannot – "

"Alright! _Fine,_ I get it." She blew out a puff of air, eyes rolling. "I'll keep practicing. I just think that my time and my talents could be better spent."

"You may _think_ however you want, so long as you obey the orders of your superior. That is another essential ability – the ability to read the tenets. Even," he interrupted as her lips parted, "If you know them by heart."

She glowered again, sinking in her chair, beaten. Inwardly, Vicente could only laugh. This girl, with her little golden curls and red moue, had talent somewhere beneath her looks. He'd heard of her work, seen with what skill she could creep in the shadows, how her blade could leave nothing but a thin red line on the neck of a corpse.

Yet she still had much to learn.

"And – "Loathe as he was to bring this up, it seemed the best way to grab her interest. "You enjoy cooking, do you not?"

Antoinetta perked up. On the streets, food was always scarce and barely edible. Living here, with access to a true kitchen, real food, spices, was almost more than she could wrap her head around. Fresh apples, cuts of beef, rosemary, garlic! "Of course I do. Why?"

"You could learn new recipes. There are a great many books dedicated to the artistry of cooking. If you were able to read, I'm certain you would be able to master many of them."

She rather liked the sound of that. Her brow knotted again, this time in thought. "… Could I cook with garlic, if I did learn to read?"

Vicente gave her _the look_. "Do not push your luck, murderer."

Now gleeful the girl giggled, blue eyes bright, smile wide. She tilted her head and gave a dramatic sigh, eyes lidding. "Well, alright. I suppose if it means I can cook new things, and I can pretend to be a _proper_ noblewoman…" Her voice shifted higher, haughtier on the last words. "… I'll do it. But I still think I could pass as noble on my beauty alone."

"I'm _sure_ you could. Nevertheless, we will continue with lessons tomorrow."

"I could?" Antoinetta batted her lashes, eyes wide, lips parted in feigned innocence. "Why, Vicente, are you saying I'm _beautiful_?"

He only pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "To your duties, murderer."

With a girlish giggle and sashay of her hips she left, leaving the vampire to sink to his chair and run a hand through his hair.

He was going to need something stronger than tea.


End file.
